I still remember the giant rubberized steps — on which I slowly raised one leg at a time while
grabbing the shiny handrail.

The steps seemed high to me at the time; after all, I was only 9 or 10.

But they were part of the adventure.

Once a month during the summer, my mom would drive me at the appointed time to Stoutsville
Elementary School, in the Amanda Clearcreek district.

There, the bookmobile sat in the parking lot.

Allowed to enter by myself, I would take a left at the top of the stairs and behold the rainbow
of colors formed by the hundreds of books neatly lining the blond wooden shelves.

I would head straight for the juvenile section and start poring through the offerings. I would
read just about anything, but I preferred stories of history and adventure.

Then, the miracle would happen: I would choose three or four books, take them to the front of
the bookmobile, hand them to the librarian and — just by showing my library card — get to take them
home with me.

How cool that felt.

The books I borrowed — my summer companions of sorts — were put to good use.

Growing up on a 100-acre farm in Fairfield County, I had few neighbors nearby and rarely
traveled far from home during the summer.

So I spent many long, warm, cicada-filled hours reading books (probably when I was supposed to
be doing chores) — taking adventures through the characters and experiencing worlds otherwise
unavailable to small-town children.

Today, I live in Lancaster about a half-mile from the Fairfield County District Library.

The bookmobile is probably out of operation by now — what a shame — but I reserve books
online.Soon after the email notification arrives, I rush down the street to pick them up.

I guess I could reserve e-books from the library; then I wouldn’t even have to leave my
house.

In the future, the youngsters of today will probably reminisce about trips to the library the
way I look back on bookmobile outings.

I know I’ll miss my library visits if — or when — all volumes become available online only.

The place has a certain amount of energy: people hustling in and out; families with small
children, sometimes dressed in princess costumes, heading for a reading; patrons staring intently
at a book or video, mulling whether to take it home; helpful staff members, many of whom would
probably rather be reading.

Maybe a part of the energy comes from the mere idea of a library — the fact that people agreed
to provide money to build a place where a community could go to find something to read, watch or
hear free.

But I still get excited mostly about the books themselves.

Forty years later, instead of walking up the steps of the bookmobile, I walk into a library and
see the many volumes lining the shelves.

All I need to do is look to find a book for me.

And then that book — on a slow, warm summer evening — takes me to another place not unlike the
worlds that a young boy found many years ago.

Mike Kelley, 52, of Lancaster is reading Civil War Dynasty: The Ewing Family of Ohio.